Hard Earned Lessons
by MagChange89
Summary: Hard Earned Lessons: Chris Redfield has been to hell on more than one occasion, but when the one woman he could count on to get him out falters, where is there left to go? Post Resident Evil 5. Looking for Jill and Chris? Not here. Sheva and Chris Pairing: Status: First Chapter is Up.


Chapter 1: Pieces of the Puzzle

**"What is pain? Loving that is gone and will never be once more.**

**What is bravery? Love found even through pain."**

* * *

The piercing rays of the early dawn greeted the slumbering earth as it had for all of time, the sky blushed tangerine at its approach. And the songbirds twittered and chirped as if to herald in the beginning of another day. Below the blossoming sky, the inhabitants of this world lay asleep in their darkened nooks and crannies,

All but one.

Chris Redfield leaned his considerable weight over the balcony railing of his quaint second story apartment, clad only in a modest grey robe and the morning light as it slowly surged through the darkness to meet him. If he had been asked years earlier, the elder Redfield would have gladly given up everything for peace like this. And now that it was his, he wondered if it really was worth it. At thirty five years old, he had seen more than his share of pain, of agony, suffered more loss that he had to, than he needed to. He could blame himself for his lack of vigilance, the government for refusing to address Umbrella before, or even Police Chief Irons for turning Raccoon city into a doomed metropolis, trapping its denizens But there was one man that deserved all the blame.

There had been a time where Chris Redfield would vouch for Albert Wesker as a leader, responsible for the lives of others. That time however had long passed, forgotten with the events in the Arkalay Mountains all those years ago. It was as fresh in his mind now as it was when it occurred. He remembered the insertion, the horror as he watched the undead kill the living, ripping men limb from limb, the dread in his gut watching his comrades, his friends, butchered with no respite. But most of all, he remembered the man who had simply traded the lives of his own men, people he was supposed to keep alive for the sake of an experiment. They had all been guinea pigs; benevolent yet unaware as to what had happened They had seen the Ex S.T.A.R's captain had been trying to exact revenge for his defeat. And to that end, he had tried to take everything from him. His life, his baby sister, and even the entire human race. But in death, Wesker had unknowingly taken the most precious thing of them all.

Jill..

His massive frame hunched over the cold guardrail even further. The hunt for his long lost partner had been a roller coaster of emotion with a bittersweet end. When it was all said and done, he had saved his companion, but perhaps he hadn't saved _her_. She was no longer the Jill Valentine he knew. The strong willed, spunky, yet professional woman he had called his partner long before their battles with umbrella was but a shell. She was more withdrawn, apathetic even. It had robbed her of all her emotion, leaving only a ghost of her former self. There was no doubt that this was the work of Albert Wesker.

Chris had tried to stay with her and make it work, really he had, but he could no longer bear watching her be torn apart by the one thing they couldn't kill with bullets: the past. The scars she bore were deeper and more visible to his eye, and he wasn't talking about the physical ones.

Whatever fiery pit that twisted traitor was burning in now, he was probably laughing at his work.

After what was now being called the Kijuju incident, the B.S.A.A. took a step back and reevaluated their situation. The companies faith in sponsors such as Tricell was badly shaken and with the better part of two fireteams and a support helicopter lost, it was clear that operations of this scale needed to better coordinated, and all large scale op's had been suspended for the time being until the Alliance could develop tactics and muster weapons that could successfully counter this new threat posed by weapons like Uroboros. Chris, by extension was given a respite from his work. Some might have interpreted this as the long period of peace from the chaos gripping our world, but all to the elder Redfield, it was just a breather.

There had been a time when a pack of Marlboro's and a bottle of Whiskey could just take all it away if only for a moment. But that was long ago, when he had worn a younger mans clothes. Before the Arkalay mountains forcefully ushered him into manhood. Quite frankly, he had almost forgotten those days. After his pledge to punish those responsible for Raccoon Cities' destruction, Chris had plunged headfirst into the terrifying world of bioterrorism, a world filled with sinister corporate schemes, safehouses, bogus passports, and good friends trapped with the knowledge that the next mission could be the last one.

Times had inevitably changed; they were no longer on the run, but they were still warriors. And like good soldiers, they regrouped after their battles, re-laced their boots, and marched right back in. This was that re up and rearm period for him.

And yet, it was here that the battles were their hardest.

Were it any other opponent, no matter how deranged, or how strong, there would always be a way to thwart them. Be it with might or logic, or teamwork, he knew he could defeat any enemy, no matter their strength, no matter their cunning. But a war was impossible to win when you were fighting yourself.

The sun peaked out of its veil of clouds and slowly emerged, Bathing the quiet suburban sprawl before him in its warm morning rays, and yet all he felt was a chill creep up his back. A shiver of doubt. Oh how he wished he could get his hands on the source of his troubles. Action and the impulse to act had always been Chris' first instinct, but everything he had seen, everything he had done, had aged him, and with that maturity came the knowledge that the source of his problems was intangible, a phantom.

A shrill ringing jolted him out of the hole he was slowly digging himself into.

With long strides, he reached his night table and grabbed the cordless from its cradle.

"Redfield." He answered.

And the voice on the other sucked him down the rabbithole once more.


End file.
